Idaho County free press. [volume] (Grangeville, Idaho Territory) 1886-current, 1887-02-11
MONSIEUR ALBANO.

haps on go, with closely-cropped hair,
and hat which Wilhelm could not keep
from thinking was one size or more too
big for him. A little old man with sad
eyes, but with pleasant voice, and a
smile that often quite banished all trace
of melancholy from his face.
But Wilhelm-the head waiter at the
dingy old Paris restaurant, where for
months he had presented himself at the
same hour daily--had taken to him from
the very first, and as the gentleman
seemed to court retirement, used in
variably to ensconce him in the snug
gest corner of the room not far from the
charcoal stove-the time was winter
and with no other companions save a
pair of tabby cats.
What is it to-day" NJ Albano would
inquire, as he seated himself at his table,
with his feet on morsel of goat-skin
placed there for them. What is it to-
day, Wilhelm"
And Wilhelm used invariably to place
white dimpled fore-finger against the
name Of some particular dish on the
card, and that was the dish M. Albano
invariably chose.
1t was not long before Wilhelm found
out that NJ. Albano was, like himself,
Hungarian, and, like himself, an exile
They were friends, indeed, after this
Wilhelm told the little old man his
story, and to some extent the little old
man told Wilhelm his. There was some
difference, nevertheless, in their stations
in life, for in his own dear land M. AL
BANJO had been a count, while Wilhelm
had been but a junior engineer.
"And so you are really going?" said
Wilhelm, as he stood one day near his
friend, the empty soup bowl in his right
hand.
Really going, Wilhelm"
"Oh, dear! Monsieur, shall sadly miss
you. Is it Brussels, monsieur, Berlin,
or Moscow? You say you have had en-
gagements at all these places"
mo, no." replied NJ. Albano sadly; at
is neither of these places. am done
with them all-done with the world, /
might say. am going home"
What" cried Wilhelm, with bright
ening eyes-"home to our dear land of
NAY, nay, nay; never there again.
What matters imperial forgiveness? Can
a king mend broken heart, even if he
could restore my fortunes? Could gaze
without grief on those green wooded
hills and valleys that once were mine?
Could l mingle with the good people who
lwell there-and who once called me
without ~ II.
no. My home is near London, the home
Of the refugee, the only city in the whole
world amid the hustle and stir of which
an exile may WOO forgetfulness.
Wilhelm fingered by the table for
few moments. He was deep in thought.
m. Albano," he said at last, ito have
in London has long been
with me an ambitious dream-a castle in
the air-call it what you will. hate
the garb of servility in which you now
see me. Oh! there are times. monsieur,
that | walk my room all night, wild in
thought, because feel l was born for
better things. Yet try to do my duty
my humble duty"
"Yes, yes, yes" said Albano, speaking
more briskly than was his wont. THAT
is right-do your duty. l trust l do
mine, humble though that is. Do not
let pride interfere with that duty. Be
not self-conscious. Concentrate your
thoughts and energies in your work,
mental though some may call it, Be-
ieve me, Wilhelm, a halo surrounds the
head OF that man or woman who does
whatever his or her hand findeth to do,
n no half hearted way, but with will,
purpose, and an honest pride of action, |
ceiling inwardly that duty is sacred
hing. Study to be content with the
tate in which Providence has placed
'ou, Wilhelm. Study that-study that"
But, monsieur, you would then leave
ambition out of count"
NO; oh, mol Only let your ambition
'e subservient to your duty. The march
# intellect-the march of the worlds
'ver, ever onward. Better yourself. by
III means, if you can: by so doing you
nay better the world; but ambitious
thoughts or actions must never interfere
With your hours of labor. These belong
o your present employer, Wilhelm"
Il see, monsieur"
well, see and think of it. Meanwhile,
ere is pass for the Grand N-r con-
ert. You will see me and my little
iolin in the second row of the orchestra.
fou will wait for me, and we will sup
ogether at the Rhondeville."
High over score of fiddlers at the
rand concert that evening, M. Albano's
title violin seemed to ring-seemed, at
ii events-in Wilhelm's ears, just as one
ears and can listen only to the nightin-
ale's voice amidst the babel of bird
oices in the woods in early spring.
After the performance, Wilhelm waited
or what appeared quite long time for
is friend. All the other musicians had
ressed and filed away, but still he came
OF.
Wilhelm ventured at last to ask one in
uthority.
"Oh, no." was the reply; M. Albano
as not gone. He is talking to the man.
ger. The manager wants him to stay